


(i won't say) i'm in love

by jamesbuchanan



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Established Relationship, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-12
Updated: 2017-04-12
Packaged: 2018-10-16 04:36:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10563837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamesbuchanan/pseuds/jamesbuchanan
Summary: Five times Steve said he hated Bucky Barnes. (And the one time he admitted he didn't.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> this is honestly one big joke (i mean look at the title it's from hercules) and not meant to be taken seriously* 
> 
> but you totally could if you wanted to*

**1**

It’s rare that Steve’s still asleep past eight. He’s usually up just moments after Bucky around six. It’s half to do with his shitty lungs—letting him get little sleep—and half to do with his internal clock being so in tune with Bucky’s. So what gets him up so late is not the fact that Bucky hasn’t gotten up yet, but the opposite. He’s still in bed with Steve, chest pressed to Steve’s back, fingers rubbing small circles over his ribs.

Steve stirs and Bucky’s touch is gone suddenly, along with the warmth on his back. There’s a dip in the bed and the sheets get pushed down, exposing his legs. Steve lets the breeze linger on his skin for a moment and, after hearing the bedroom door creak shut, gets out of bed.

There’s the faint sound of water running, so Steve assumes Bucky went to wash up. He moves to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee, stretching on tiptoe to pull two cups out of the cupboard above the counter. Vaguely he wonders why Bucky left bed so quickly, or rather, why he was still _in_ bed. It's no wonder he was able to sleep longer, the warmth of Bucky's skin and the soft rubbing of his fingers made him feel easy and relaxed.

He leaves the cups and meets Bucky back in the bedroom. He sighs a “good morning,” and searches for a shirt.

Bucky grins and wiggles his eyebrows. “I smell coffee,” he says.

Steve nods. “Yeah, yeah, go check on it will you?” He doesn’t look up from where he’s buttoning up his shirt, but figures Bucky nods in response. When he finishes the last button he follows Bucky out into the kitchen where he’s messing with the flame under the pot.

“What’s got you up so late?” Bucky asks, back turned while he searches for sugar.

“Could ask you the same thing,” Steve shrugs, sliding into a chair.

Bucky doesn’t answer him, just continues his hunt. Steve watches him from the table, watches the way his shoulders move under his shirt as he checks another cupboard, watches his hands and remembers how they'd just been on his skin minutes ago.

“Should probably tell you we ran out of sugar two nights ago,” because of course Steve knows what Bucky’s looking for, of course he knows Bucky likes to sprinkle a teaspoon or two of sweetness in his coffee.

Bucky throws him a grin over his shoulder. “And you were gonna tell me when?”

“Just did,” Steve deadpans.

Bucky shakes his head and huffs a laugh, taking the pot off the burner and pouring coffee into the cups Steve put out. He takes a large gulp out of his own and slides Steve’s across the hardwood.

“Hey, listen, I’ve gotta head out,” Bucky says after another swallow of black coffee. It’s too bitter for him but he drinks it anyway. He rushes around the apartment, grabbing the small tub of pomade from the bedroom, and applies it while watching his reflection in the small mirror by the bedroom doorway. It’s a little sloppy, but it’s good enough. He’s back in the kitchen before Steve can blink twice and it’s making him a little dizzy.

“Are you late?” Steve asks, bringing the cup to his lips for a small sip.

“Right on schedule, Stevie,” Bucky says, reaching for his cup again. His eyes widen as he remembers something. “Oh, hey, before I forget. There’s a box of asthma cigarettes in my other coat, just in case you need ‘em. Also try not to put too much strain on your back ‘cause it’s cold out.”

And Steve hates to be babied, but it’s also…heartwarming. (Not that he’d ever admit that.) Heartwarming that Bucky went out of his way to get him another pack of asthma cigarettes from Harry’s two streets over. Heartwarming that after all this time Bucky’s picked up on how when the weather gets cold Steve tends to get pain in his back. (Heartwarming that Bucky stayed later than he really should have to keep Steve warm a little longer in bed.)

For once, instead of complaining about the “unnecessary looking after”, Steve gives him a small smile in response and says, “Thanks, Buck.”

“Anytime, pal,” Bucky hums, ruffling Steve’s hair as he goes for the door to grab his coat, hat, and keys. He practically stumbles over his own two feet to get his shoes on. In a quick rush and a loud slam of the front door, Bucky is gone for the day.

Steve finds comfort in the brief silence and stares at the wavy reflection of himself in his coffee cup. He chuckles to himself. “Bucky, you’re ridiculous,” he mumbles into the cup.

**2**

Two weeks later the weather lets up a bit. By the early hours of the evening, the winds have calmed and the sun is spreading warm colors of orange and pink across rooftops and peeking out between buildings. Steve decides to make his way down to the docks to meet Bucky at his job, since it’s one of the last weeks he’ll be working there until he picks back up after winter.

It’s just about ten minutes before Bucky’s supposed to clock out when Steve gets there, so he wanders around the building until he gets out. He finds himself in the backroom where the workers keep their personal belongings and searches around for Bucky’s things. His coat and hat stand out to him, as they’ve always been easy to pick out for Steve. If it weren’t for that, the strip of tape with the name _Barnes_ written in permanent marker across it would have helped him figure it out.

The door opens, startling Steve, but it’s just one of the other workers, smelling of sweat and sea salt as he walks past Steve to get his things. He clears his throat and Steve turns towards him.

“Waitin’ on Buchanan?” he asks, pointing to his hook.

Ignoring the sound of the door opening again, Steve decides to poke fun. “Nah,” he says, “don’t even know him. Seems like a total jerk though.”

As the words leave his lips he’s being tugged by the neck into Bucky’s armpit. “Always the jokester, aren’t you, Steve?”

“Funnily enough, yes,” Steve smirks even when Bucky messes up his hair.

“C’mon, don’t tease me around these guys,” Bucky pretends to whine. “I’m the strongest guy they’ve got and the more jokes you crack the less they’re gonna believe it.”

Steve’s smirk grows wider now. “Please, Buck, _I_ don’t even believe that.”

“Oh, screw you, Rogers,” Bucky laughs, flicking him off as he pushes an arm through his coat. Steve grins. After he gets his hat on, and punches his card, Bucky guides Steve back out onto the sidewalk to start the walk home.

They’re three blocks down when Steve says, “Seriously, man, who are you? Why are you following me home?”

“Why I oughta...,” Bucky groans.

**3**

Steve had gotten in a fight.

When he came home late from the bar with bloody knuckles, Bucky lost it.

He’d gotten up from his spot on the couch, set his book down on the end table, and went looking for their first aid kit. Not before throwing a jab in Steve’s direction. “Shut up and sit down.” When he came back with the first aid and an almost empty bottle of whiskey, Steve was waiting patiently on the couch.

Bucky kneels in front of him. “Your ma,” he starts, taking out bandaids and gauze and prep pads, “God rest her soul, was crazy for putting up with this.”

Steve grits his teeth while Bucky wipes away the blood on his hands. “There was this guy down at the bar trying with a mouth on him. Just wouldn't shut up. He started messin' with this fella—” Bucky stands up then, pulling Steve to his feet and guiding him to the kitchen sink to rinse off the dried up blood around his knuckles. He continues what he was saying with his hands under the tap. “He—fuck that _hurts_ —he called him a fairy, Buck. I wasn't gonna stand for that. And he ain't no fairy, he's a good guy.”

Bucky's lost all resolve by the end of Steve's story. He knows nothing he says will stick. “That's not your job, Steve,” Bucky mumbles, throwing a towel in his direction to dry his hands. Steve takes it, and they head back to the couch so Bucky can finish his work. After ointment has been rubbed on Steve’s skin and bandaids have been placed over them to help him heal, Bucky sits back on his heels and reaches for the bottle of whiskey.

“That for me?” Steve asks, hopeful.

Bucky snorts, “Yeah right,” and takes a swig. “After getting all your blood on my shirt I’m gonna need this.” He finishes off the bottle and cleans up around him, placing everything back in the kit neatly. Bucky stands, sets the kit down on the couch and begins on the buttons of his shirt.

“C’mon,” he says, nodding towards the bedroom. Steve lets out a yawn and follows him in.

Steve ends up with his head tucked under Bucky’s chin, their legs tangled under the sheets. Bucky scratches the hair at the nape of Steve’s neck while he talks. “You are so ridiculous. Going at it with a guy twice your size, drunk as hell. You’re lucky he didn’t have any of his friends with him or Lord knows how roughed up you would’ve looked when you got home. I oughta shove you in my pocket so you don’t go—“

“Bucky,” Steve cuts him off, “shut up.” He pushes himself closer to Bucky, drinking in all his body heat and yawns again.

“Shut up? One day you’re gonna come home half dead, are you gonna tell me to shut up then?” He pinches Steve’s side and he makes a choked off noise at the jolt of pain.

Steve kicks his shin under the sheets in retaliation. “I hate you,” he says, but there’s no real malice to his tone. 

“Yeah yeah,” Bucky says, “I hate you too and all that. Now get some sleep.”

“You’re such a pain in my ass,” Steve mumbles against his skin. Bucky tells him, “Look who’s talkin’,” but sleep takes him before he can hear it.

**4**

Bucky won’t quit teasing him. And sure, usually Steve’s able to come right back with smart remarks until Bucky shuts his trap, but this time he isn’t using his mouth.

They’re walking back from the picture they went to see and Bucky won’t stop bumping into him, He thinks he’s being subtle, but Steve knows exactly what he’s up to.

“C’mon, Buck, cut it out!” Steve says, distancing himself from Bucky as they turn the corner.

“Cut what out?” Bucky says, faking innocence. “I’m just walking, Steve.” He closes the gap between them again and looks at him. “See? Just walking.”

Steve rolls his eyes at him and continues on. Moments later he’s being nudged in the side again. Bucky’s snickering to himself.

“You’re not funny.”

“Kinda am,” Bucky says and does it again.

Steve sighs dramatically and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I cannot stand you.”

“Fat chance,” Bucky grins, “you love me.”

“I think the word you’re looking for is hate.” When Bucky’s quiet for a moment, Steve smiles to himself in victory.

Bucky stops walking then and when Steve turns to look at him he’s squinting. For a moment, he's worried he actually hurt Bucky's feelings, but then he sees the smirk. “Well aren’t you heated? Is that smoke I see coming out of your ears? He takes the few steps to meet Steve and pulls him in with an arm draped around his shoulders. “Must be. C’mon, I’ll buy you a coke to cool you down.”

If Steve rolled his eyes any harder they’d fall out of his skull. “You’re the worst.”

**5**

He’d told Bucky not to worry about dinner after seeing how worn out he looked when he walked through the door. Bucky smiled in thanks and curled up on the couch to unwind while Steve cooked.

Steve’s moving quickly, attempting to multi-task to get dinner done faster. When he turns towards the stove to stir a pot, the side of his hand grazes the hot stovetop and burns him. He shouts, bites his tongue, and inhales sharply.

Bucky’s next to him in seconds, looking at him with concern in his eyes and a worrisome tone in his voice. “What happened? Are you okay?”

Steve looks up at him, narrows his eyes, and says, “Literally, fuck you.” He lets Bucky take his hand and inspect the angry red line going up the side to the tip of his pinky finger. “This is the last time I try and make dinner for you.”

Bucky gives a tired laugh and guides him toward the sink to soothe the burn under the cold tap.

**+1**

In the fleeting moments after climax Steve feels at ease, and nothing hurts. For that short time the burn in his lungs is nonexistent, his heart rate comes down from its high, and his bones feel limp and liquid instead of frail and achy. 

But Steve’s always dizzy on the comedown, never quite sure of half the things that come out of his mouth in this state. Which is why it’s shocking to Bucky when he curls up against his side like a cat, head tucked snugly in the crook of Bucky’s neck, and he says: “I love you.”

Bucky goes rigid, trying to determine if those words just came out of Steve’s mouth. It doesn’t take long for Steve to pick up on the tension in Bucky’s body either. He sits up quickly, suddenly sobered from his dazed state and stares down at Bucky with wide eyes.

“Did you just say that?” Bucky whispers it.

“Uh…yes?” Steve’s shocked he even said it himself. Then he sees the smirk tugging at the corner of Bucky’s mouth and waits for the smart remark.

“You gettin’ soft on me, Rogers?” He pushes himself up on his elbows, smirk in full. “And to think _I’d_ be the first one to tell you that.”

Steve rolls his eyes and groans, head falling softly back against the pillow. “I take it back,” he says, throwing an arm over his eyes, “I hate you.”

“Right,” Bucky says. Steve hears him shuffle down the mattress and feels him press himself up against his side. “Well, I love you too,” he says, lips pressed against Steve’s ear. He shivers at the touch and rolls onto his side to meet Bucky’s eyes.

“I mean that,” Bucky says. “Scout’s honor.” He searches Steve’s eyes, waits for the silent acceptance and trust that yes, he does believe Bucky. Steve blinks back, presses a ghost of a kiss to his lips and Bucky _knows._

Bucky’s quick to turn over on his back. He pulls Steve in with an arm around his shoulders. “But since we’re being _overdramatic_ , then yeah, I hate you too.”

Steve just grins.


End file.
